paper crane hand fly
Flash Fiction


She stretched out on her back, arms behind her head, legs crossed at the ankles. The grass beneath was soft and cool, the sky above streaked with radiant red and oranges gently dissolving into dusk. Her soft, tired sigh was snatched by the breeze and ruthlessly swallowed. The necklace of origami dragons strung on the wall danced to the tune.


Swans, the voice in her head chided immediately. Not dragons, but swans.


The practical tone would have irritated if it wasn’t so edged with fear. Fear of being seen, heard, hunted. Of being haunted.


But for once, she ignored it all. Twilight was almost gone and its parting promised that the night ahead was worthy of dreams. She knew better than to ignore such a telling. The sun did not lie. Already, she could see the thin crescent moon, edges sharp enough to cut and bleed. Reality, she decided, could wait until tomorrow.   


Her sigh, when it floated out this time, was a sound of defiance and carried a fragrant mist of stars. The dust of her being flew, transfigured into a loud gushing wind. The threads on the wall undulated like the strings of a harp.


Delighted, she laughed, the sound in harmony to the soft lilt only she could hear and one dragon fluttered free. The amber eyes gleamed, green gossamer wings edged with fire and it galloped forward. to land on her shoulder.


The flamed wings licked her ear like the gentle sweep of dragonfly wings, soft emerald mane nudging her cheek for a nuzzle. “I missed you, too, old friend.”




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